


Drive

by SLWalker



Series: Arch to the Sky [59]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Chicago (1998), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June 1998: Ray figures out the mystery of who lead him to his newest Riv, and decides to hijack a Mountie for a drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive

The speedometer had been at seventy-five for a good half-hour, and Ray saw no reason to slow it down any.  There was something perfect about the sound of a V-8, newly tuned up, mingling with the hum of the tires on the road and the steady swoop and swipe of the windshield wipers.  Rain and gray clouds and green, newly painted and detailed.  The only thing that offset the perfection was a fidgety Mountie in the passenger's seat, who was clinging to his stetson like a security blanket.

Though, maybe even that was perfect.  Benny's had always sat on the dash.  Turnbull's remained on his lap, and he kept fiddling with it as he sat impossibly straight.

Ray allowed a bit of a smirk to cross his face.

He'd hijacked said Mountie right at the end of his shift.  It had been fairly easy to get the man in the car -- it had only been a couple weeks since Ray started showing up to offer a ride, but it was still often enough to make this simple.

It was only after they got on the outer belt that Turnbull had figured out something was up, which lead to something not unlike a static burst of uncertain questioning.

"Relax," Ray had answered, without tipping his hand. "We're goin' for a ride."

"For a case?"

"No, just for a ride."

The Mountie probably figured this was going to be a bad kind of ride.  At least, if he got much more nervous, he might end up breaking something.  Ray wasn't sure what could be easily broken, but he didn't want to underestimate the potential.  He still wasn't sure how a man could chase a suspect like a gazelle, but couldn't seem to cross a room without knocking something down.

Another scattershot of uncertainty.

"Detective, if I've done something -- that is to say, if I've upset you in some way, where you may feel the need to--"

"A ride.  R-I-D-E.  You ever just been on a ride?"

"Well, yes, Detective--"

"Ray."

"--but I must admit that this is rather unexpected; indeed, disconcerting on several levels, and I have no idea where this 'ride' might end and the purpose to it--"

"What, you think I plan on whacking you?"

The sheer shock on Turnbull's face was quite a sight. "Oh, _never_.  I was more expecting this to-- actually, I'm not entirely certain as to what I expect, but this is quite _unexpected_ as you can well imagine."

"Yeah," Ray answered, as he started watching the mile-markers counting up to the exit.  They were long since out of Chicago, and trees framed the highway.  The Riv was running beautifully; smooth mechanics.  Transmission was perfect.  Everything was pretty amazing about the car, even if he did have to pay for it to be redone in green.  It didn't smell like his original Riv yet.  But Ray might have been all right with even that.  "Just kick back and trust me here, okay?"

"I-- yes, Detective."  Of course, that set off another round of Turnbull fiddling with his stetson.

Ray just shook his head to himself, and he even bothered to use his turn signal to exit the highway.  He turned left, and followed on a further mile, then right.  Lake Michigan came into view; still grays and greens through the rain, but somewhere off out there was a faint glow of warm color.  Evening sun, from some clear skies to the north.

Something settled in his soul, quietly, at the sight.  And Ray drove parallel to the lake for awhile, before the destination came into view.

It was just a restaurant.  No five-star, but better than one of those family diner type places.  There was a glass-framed room in the back, overlooking the lake, and Ray had spent several days quietly inquiring about places something like this outside of Chicago.  Most everyone assumed it was for a date; his sister, for that matter, had lit up at the idea that he might be hitting the dating scene again after the disaster that had been his brief relationship with Stella Kowalski.

It wasn't a date, though.  Just a 'thank you.'

Ray pulled into the parking lot and shut the engine off, then reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.  Two pieces of paper: One was the note that had given him this car.  The other was a copy of a fax from the Canadian Consulate, something purely unrelated.  There had been a cover sheet on it.  And the writing on both matched.

He handed the papers over.  "You found this car for me.  I figured I should thank you for it.  So, I'm takin' you to dinner."

Something like fear flashed across Turnbull's face; wide-eyed and bizarrely uncomfortable.  He took and held the sheets of paper like they might grow fangs and bite.  His face lit up red, and the sputter was probably inevitable.

"--you most certainly do not have to-- I'm afraid I had never meant for you-- it was really only an idle--  I had meant no offense, obviously your choice in vehicle is absolutely none of my--"  That stetson might have ended up flattened against the man's chest.  He laughed nervously, offering the papers back as though he were terrified to keep them.  A door slammed two cars over, some old couple bickering at each other.  The two sheets fell immediately from his fingers when he jumped, banging his head off the roof. 

Turnbull shut his eyes tightly, clearly embarrassed.  "--that is to say.  You're welcome."

Ray waited until that little bust-up was out of the way, expression somewhat soft and mild.  Appreciative.  Likewise, slightly amused.  It was a good reflection for how he felt internally. "Good.  So, c'mon, lemme buy you dinner.  Ain't 'cause I have to, it's 'cause I want to."

And with that, he opened the door and slid out, ignoring for the moment the rain on his shoulders, and waited.

He expected there to likely be some shattered glass, maybe a half-dozen more apologies, and certainly a lot of flustered Mountie.

Ray was okay with that.


End file.
